The Persian and the Detective
by Moon Dragon Rebel
Summary: In this story, I used the character of Sherlockitty instead of the more human version. So, the Egyptian ambassador has lost his prized cat, and consulting detective Sherlock Homes is sent to find her, leading to surprising twists and turns, eventually culminating into something much larger than Sherlock or John can predict.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

All was quiet at 221B Baker Street. _Too_ quiet, _much_ too quiet for my taste, thought Sherlock Homes, as he rested in his armchair, his head resting on his paws, tail twitching in annoyance. It's been _three bloody months_ since my last case, he griped. Stretching his legs and yawning, he proceeded to jump down from the chair, leap onto the windowsill, and look out into the street below, his ice blue eyes scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary.

Ears pinned back in thought, he began to wonder, absentmindedly, what it was like to be an ordinary person. Not obviously ordinary, as in completely human. He meant _truly_ ordinary, as in lacking in sharp intellect, dull, stupid. Then again, he mused, they never worry about things that are beyond their scope of grasp. Perhaps to some extent, ignorance _is_ bliss, he concluded, as he licked his paw and proceeded to groom his ear.

The door that led to the street opened and slammed shut. _John_, Sherlock thought, as he leapt down from the windowsill, and stretch out on the carpet, claws extended outward. A minute later, John ascended the stairs, holding a grocery bag. "Did you get the tea and milk?" Sherlock questioned. "Yes," John replied. "And the fish?"

"Yes,"

"Was it caught from the wild, or farmed?"

"Farmed,"

"Was it on the display for less than 72 hours?"

"Yes…"

"Did you ask-"

"_Sherlock_," John moaned as he set the grocery bag down on the counter. There were times like this when John wished he could just have a _normal_ flat mate, like everyone else. When he wished his partner could eat regular food, who didn't practice his violin at 3 am, only to be followed by yowling with the other cats at 4 am, who didn't keep body parts in the kitchen, _or_ who didn't get his kicks from dead bodies and serial killers. _Oh well_, John thought, as he entered the living room, _one can't have it all._

When he got there, he found Sherlock intensively studying what appeared to be a human hand. It had sat in the freezer for over three days, and Sherlock had taken it out an hour ago to study the effects of frostbite after death. He was studying the fingertips for any telltale black marks, using his paws to flick the tips over, letting his whiskers brush the skin for any traces of cold, biting the thumb and flipping the hand over to have a look at the palm.

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone beeped. "Get that, will you?" he growled at John. He never liked to be interrupted when he was working, and today was no exception. Besides, it was always a cumbersome process for Sherlock to answer his phone. For that reason, Sherlock had gotten a Bluetooth earpiece, which would have made things easier. However, he was constantly losing it, and today was a lost day. John picked up the phone and read the text:

Egyptian ambassador has lost cat.

Suspect is man found to have been murdered 3 days prior.

Look into as soon as convenient.

-Lestraude

"Sherlock," John called, showing the phone to the detective. "Not now," Sherlock growled, tail twitching in annoyance and deep concentration. "Sherlock," John repeated, feeling annoyed himself. "_I'm busy_" Sherlock hissed, now feeling plain angry at his roommate for interrupting him on such an important experiment. "_Just read it, dammit_" John muttered, setting the phone on the desk. To get it over with, Sherlock glanced for a minute at the phone, and stopped. His ears pricked up in interest as he read the text over, slowly. "Well this is perfect. A man, murdered three days prior, is suspect of stealing a priceless animal over 72 hours after his expiration. _Brilliant!_" he purred, feeling more excited with each moment. He leapt over the table to a small coat hanger, wrestled on his coat, and slipped his head into his scarf. "Come along, John!" he called after the doctor. "_The hunt is on!"_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Egyptian ambassador to England lived near Hyde Park, in a large villa towards the end of Stanhope Street. The outside was rather grand, decorated with marble Corinthian columns, used to support a porch made of more modern composite wood, more likely to survive the harsh English climate. The interior resembled a palace one would expect to find on the backs of the Nile, with gold and onyx decorated floors, walls painted with pictures of storks and crocodiles, statues of Anubis guarding the ambassador's bedchamber. It was to this villa that Sherlock and John summoned a cab to, and by the time they arrived, the police had already roped it off, and their cars had formed a barricade at both ends of the street.

Sherlock galloped ahead of John, who not being small enough, had to duck under the police tape. By then Sherlock had already reached Lestraude, who was reclining against the hood of a car, and was with an elder woman, who looked somewhat shaken. "Morning Sherlock, John," Lestraude greeted them amiably. Sherlock hopped onto the hood of the car and sat up tall, to better make eye contact with the DI. "This is Mrs. Somers, the ambassador's housekeeper", Lestraude introduced them. She was about 55, short and stacked, like most women her age. She had on a calico-printed dress, a white apron, and had a handkerchief balled in her right fist. "She was in the house about the same time the intruder came in," Lestraude explained. "She hasn't spoken much since we got here, she's pretty shaken. Sherlock, you can question her to get the information you need, but for God's sake, _please_ try not to traumatize her even more."

Sherlock walked on the car hood and stood up, to better make eye contact with the help. "Alright, where were you at 2:34 am this morning?" Sherlock began with. "I-I was in the spare b-bedroom." Mrs. Somers stammered. "Did you hear anything out of the ordinary? Unusual?" Sherlock grilled. "Y-yes, but I thought it was Mr. Habib, so I just went back to sleep" she muttered. "You bloody fool! Did you not even stop to think about how unusual it would be for your boss to be walking about at 2 in the morning? Did the possibility of an intruder not even cross your mind?!" Sherlock put his front paws on the woman's shoulder and looked her straight in the face, he was by now pretty cross. "Were you actually so stupid as to not even _entertain_ the idea of an intruder breaking into your boss's multi-billion pound house, filled with just about anything of even minor value?! HOW COULD YOU BE SO BLOODY _IGNORANT_?!" Sherlock roared at her.

By now Mrs. Somers was sobbing hysterically, and shaking visibly. "I didn't _mean_ to be so ignorant!" she cried, indignant. "I heard the footsteps going up the stairs, towards Aziza's room! They were very heavy and clumsy sounding, like a puppet's steps! Then I heard a yowl, and nothing else! _Please leave me alone_!" "Don't get so worked up, I only did that to get answers," Sherlock purred, before leaping off the car hood and sauntering towards the house. "Mrs. Somers will need a shock blanket right about now," he called casually to Lestraude and John, the former who groaned and muttered something, the latter, with a shake of his head, following his colleague into the house.


End file.
